


I'd Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor

by somethingintheireyes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Established Relationship, Grinding, Groping, Jealous John, M/M, Pining John, Sherlock is a God, Sherlock is a Tease, Song fic, arctic monkeys just speaks to me, dont know how to tag, ends up being smutty at the end, he's actually really obvious, john is a mastermind, not really - Freeform, oh well, or perhaps a demon, sherlock wears eyeliner, somewhat vulgar language, sorry - Freeform, sort of, well i mean it's a we both think each other is fit so why not shag type of thing, well towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:23:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingintheireyes/pseuds/somethingintheireyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'd bet you look good on the dancefloor" shouldn't have been the first thing John thought when he saw Sherlock that morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'd Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Arctic Monkeys and this just popped into my head and yeah I'm sorry it's one thirty in the morning. It's goofy in the beginning but I rated it explicitly because of the end. So, hope that excites you! Happy readings! The song is obviously "I'd Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor" by Arctic Monkeys if you would like to listen to it.

_"I'd bet you look good on the dancefloor"_ shouldn't have been the first thing that John thought when he saw Sherlock that morning. 

It wasn't as if he was wearing anything special, it was morning. He was wearing his pajama bottoms, loose t-shirt, and robe, as per usual. He didn't know why he thought that, or the reasoning behind it.

Sherlock was currently puttering around the kitchen, mumbling to himself about the consistency of the multiple experiments he had been conducting, due to the fact that there were little to no cases recently. John watched with interest, the way his legs drifted him gracefully and swiftly around their shared kitchen, how his body contorted when stretching across the table, avoiding test tubes and beakers. He was light on his feet almost as if he had a skip in his step. He would never get over his fascination with the man. How awkward yet graceful he holds himself, with confidence and a twinge of insecurity.

"Why are you staring?" Sherlock asked in a bored expression, not bothered to even look his way.

John blinked a few times, of course he would notice. "I, uh, was just wondering when you were going to make tea."

Sherlock paused for a second, frozen one would say. Thinking, calculating. The motion lasted no more than half a second, but John knew Sherlock just deduced something that would've taken the average man an hour. Sherlock subtly shook his head, clearing it. "You make the tea. I'm busy."

John rolled his eyes, and got up making his way to the kitchen. The slightest bit of hope in not having to make the tea died, even though his excuse was a lost cause. Not like he even trusted the man to make it.

***

John walked in to his shared flat to the familiar sound of a violin being played. 

He stopped at the entrance and watched him play, torso slinking as his arms moved, pulling the bow across the strings. Hip cocked a tad, and legs widened to hold his somewhat awkward stance. His light blue shirt followed the movements, showing his back muscles moving, a tad bunched up at the bottom due to the torso movement. Black trousers hugged his hips and thighs in all the right places and elongating his legs.

"Staring again." Not even a skipped beat in the melody.

John shook himself inwardly. "Uh, yeah, just.. listening. Didn't sound familiar, something you wrote?"

The bow stopped moving suddenly, frozen again. A second. "...yes." He put the violin back in it's case and began pacing. Graceful legs moving him quickly around the flat. John's eyes never ceasing to steal glances.

"Now what are you doing?" John asked as he hung his coat up.

"Thinking."

John sighed and rolled his eyes again, walking to his room, but not without taking one last look at the man. Yeah, he would look really good on the dancefloor. Now, he needed to get this...  _thing_ out of his head. But how?

***

John checked his phone one last time and grabbed his coat for the second time that day, a bit of anticipation running through his veins.

Sherlock poked his head out from around the corner, "Where are you going, now?"

"To have lunch with Lestrade, want me to pick you up anything?"

Pause. Two seconds. Calculation. Head shake. "Why would you have lunch with Lestrade?"

"I am friends with him, Sherlock."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes slightly at John, brow furrowing in the most minuscule way. The he shrugged, bored expression back, as he spun out of sight.

John sighed happily, and walked out the door.

***

"You want me to try and _trick_ Sherlock?  _Sherlock._ Why?" Greg was blinking at John like a deer in headlights.

"No, no, not trick, per say, but I'm telling him we have a case, and you need to go along with it. Saying it's strictly classified to keep things quiet, and to just meet you at the club around eight. Got it?" John nibbled on a chip, his scraps of his eaten sandwich lying lifelessly, and Sherlock's looking rather inviting.

"I still don't understand why you're having me do this." Greg said, shaking his head and sighing, taking a drink of his beer.

"Let's just say it's an... experiment of sorts." John smirked.

Greg looked at him for a minute. "You've been around that man too long. He's corrupting you."

_You have no idea,_ he thought to himself.

***

Sherlock stared at John, confused, frozen. Three seconds. "A case? I haven't read or heard of anything happening in this dull city. I can't seem to understand how we haven't had a case, though, in this whole city. Everyone's just trying to ruin my fun by being 'good citizens'."

John chuckled, "well, your fun can start now. We have to stakeout the culprit at a club. So we have to act like we're there for fun. Intermingle and... dance." John had to subtly clear his throat, hoping the detective wouldn't hear him.

Pause. Four seconds. Narrowed eyes, furrowed brows. "Right then. We need proper attire I would suppose. You in your jumper and me in my suits? No, that would draw too much attention. We need to blend in."

John's breath caught in his throat. He blinked several times, trying to form a coherent thought.

"Right, okay." He cleared his throat, "Any ideas?"

Sherlock smirked, "when don't I have ideas?" He spun away excitedly, moving down the stairs with that inhuman grace he owned.

***

John looked in the mirror and he felt normal. A jacket over a white t-shirt and dark wash jeans, though he did have on nicer shoes, insisted by Sherlock. He didn't know what the other man was wearing, telling John that it would be best to split up so that whoever is behind this secret case wouldn't accidentally see them together and get suspicious at the club. All nonsense.

"John!" Sherlock called out. "Do I look okay?"

John sighed and looked in the mirror one last time and shrugged, stepping out into the sitting area. 

He would've sworn a million times over that his heart stopped for nearly four seconds.

Sherlock was standing there, in a blazer with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a small, form-fitting v-neck black t-shirt that showed off his lean torso, stretched out of his pecs nicely. Black skinny jeans, sinfully tight, showing off his glorious legs. And -  _jesus mary and mother fucking joseph -_ Kohl eyeliner, which exaggerated his already striking green-blue eyes. His hair was pushed back from his face and disheveled stylishly and John couldn't help but think that it vaguely resembled his hair after a good shag.

"So?" He smirked.

John took a while to find his words, shifting uncomfortably, trying to subtly readjust himself to his growing problem that needed to stop growing or Sherlock would surely notice if he hadn't already.

"Yeah, right, good, uh, cab - downstairs - needta go - _now."_ John turned away from the God that was standing in front of him and practically sprinted out the door. The two climbed into the cab, Sherlock sitting unnecessarily close to John, a hint of different cologne wafting in his direction which was driving John mad. John tried to give the cabbie the address of the club and failed embarrassingly. Sherlock smirked as he shifted away and rattled off a street name and a few numbers. John was completely and utterly fucked.

***

Saying he was completely and utterly fucked was an outrageous understatement. Watching as Sherlock move languidly and erotically amongst a throng of people was something John couldn't even begin to describe. John had to down a beer, or two, to even function properly while watching him. Sherlock had lost his blazer and was engulfed with black. The t-shirt clung to his arms and chest and back like it was painted on, showing off his back muscles, and tone chest. The way the end of the sleeves cut into his bicep was amazing, stark white against dark black. His legs, still moving gracefully, looked amazing. And his hips, gyrating in the filthiest ways John could think of. There was no denying that he was rock hard in his own jeans, a reason as to why he wasn't moving. That and he thought maybe he could drink away this...  _thing_  he created. He didn't know whether to call Sherlock a demon or angel, looking heavenly, but making him feel very bad.

Sherlock caught John's eye and smirked wickedly, full of knowing and smugness. He cocked a finger at John, motioning for him to join. Definitely demonic, John decided.

John moved into the crowd of people, losing Sherlock. He felt hands on his hips and a tall, lean body pressed up against his, moving them both in time with the music. 

"Oh, John. How daft do you find me?" Sherlock's voice was deep, rough and made him feel like he was melting. His breath on John's throat made him feel like he was on fire. "Though the real question would be, how attractive do you find me? But I know the answer to that." One of Sherlock's hands moved to the front of John's jeans, palming him gently. John's knees nearly buckled and he groaned out, moving closer to the body behind him. "How's the outfit? Perfect enough for this  _case?"_ He exaggerated the word, voice like honey.

"You knew." John managed to choke out, breath coming out short, body like a live wire as Sherlock's hands continued relentlessly.

He laughed and continued to move, "Of course I knew John. Though it did take me longer than expected. First this morning, when you asked me to make tea, I knew something was off. You haven't asked me to make tea since the time I tried to poison you. Then, the staring commenced the second time, after heading to the Bank. You didn't realize that I was playing a song on the violin that I play quite frequently, as you have named it, 'my thinking song'. Plus, you seemed to be suspiciously intrigued. Third, you decided to go out to lunch with Lestrade. Now, I do realize you have... friends, however, the way your tone was gave it away that something was up. Then there was the case. I would know if there was a case and there was, in fact, nothing going on in this dull city, as I have stated before. Fourth was the hitch in your voice when you mentioned the fact that we had to blend in and  _dance."_ Sherlock ground his hips against John for empasis, letting a moan fall out John's lips. "I mean, we both know your interest in me, due to the fact that we regularly shag, but this was different. It was something you wanted, needed. And if I had been so aloof and oblivious to had not figured it out by then, your reaction to me in the sitting room prior to leaving was a dead giveaway. So, in conclusion you wanted to know what I would look like dancing at a club setting, am I wrong?"

"Spot on." John said, head falling against Sherlock's chest, just wanting him to continue speaking, letting the velvet folds of his voice engulf him as he kept up his ministrations. Sherlock chuckled at the obvious lack in ability to speak properly and dragged his teeth against the shorter man's earlobe. "So, Doctor, what do you think."

John spun around to face Sherlock, or look up at him. Their bodies were flush, and Sherlock's hands stayed on John's hips. "I'm thinking three things. One, you better dress like this more often, eyeliner included. Two, when we get back to the flat I'm going to fuck you senseless." Sherlock broke his smug composure and moaned at John's words. "And three, you look fucking amazing on the dancefloor." 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope that was good! Sorry, I had to get it out of my brain, Arctic Monkeys and Johnlock does things to me. It became much more... smutty then I was picturing. Oh well. I could make a sequel if y'all really wanted one... it would be purely smut, obviously by ending. Though I do believe it ended well. But that's up to demand of readers. Love you lotsies!


End file.
